


Heathers

by LivingBreathingGay



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Literally the opposite of angst with a happy ending, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, but only a lil cause people can be assholes when they are sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingBreathingGay/pseuds/LivingBreathingGay
Summary: An angsty anxceit song fix to Heathers by Conan GrayI literally just hurt the snake boi im so sorry
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Onesided Anxceit
Kudos: 29





	Heathers

_I still remember, third of December, me in your sweater_

_You said it looked better on me than it did you_

Janus couldn’t remember when he first loved Virgil. 

It had always been them together, Janus and Virgil, Deceit and Anxiety, the bad guys dealt a bad hand. It could have happened anywhere, and he knew it probably was slow, over the years. 

But he remembers one night, a sleepover in Janus’s room (almost useless considering their rooms were across from each other, but they had done it anyhow). 

They had sat there, watching one of the shitty Christmas movies that always came on during that time, making fun of them, like they always had. 

Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with him, and he falls back. 

It might’ve just been the snow on television, or the fact that he had shed his usual capelet, but he was cold. He hadn’t really noticed it until Virgil slipped out of his usual hoodie and placed it around his shoulders.

Janus remembers turning, and seeing a soft blush on Virgil’s face. 

“What, you were cold, and I wasn’t.” Janus had always loved Virgil’s awkwardness. Why didn’t he realize that until now?

“Well,” He had said sarcastically , tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Does it look good?”

Virgil scoffed, but his voice was softer in the darkness. “I guess, don’t get all arrogant about it though, J. Those gloves on the other hand-” 

Something in his chest loosened fondly as they pretended to fight. But, in the dim light of the t.v., Virgil had placed his hand on his scaled one. 

A part of him had always stayed on that one night, in the dark. 

_But I watch your eyes as she_

_Walks by_

_What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than a blue sky_

Janus couldn’t remember when he had lost Virgil. 

After that night, they had somewhat of a golden period or what Remus called “gross”. They were just a little bit softer around the edges with each other, more touchy, and Virgil never minded him wearing his jacket. (When he turned away once, he could see a smile on the others face, barely there, but shining like the morning sun).

Everything changed once Thomas started making new videos. He called them “Sanders Sides”, and Janus was happy that he started these at first. They brought in more viewers, which meant more money, which meant he could continue to support himself while making something he enjoyed. 

Then Virgil appeared in one of the videos, and he was never the same after that. His smile didn’t quite linger as long and his eyes held expressions he could not decipher. 

(He didn’t let him wear it anymore)

He was more distant, close yet Janus knew that he was farther away than anything he could ever dream of.

So he watched the videos. 

And saw Virgil’s smiling at _him_ , when he didn’t think the camera was facing the stairs, smiling the way he used to smile at Janus. 

He saw his eyes trace the air around _him_ like he could see the light gleaming around _him_. 

He saw the way he so quickly trusted _him_ , bouncing back and forth conversations like it was natural. 

And he was jealous, green with envy and bursting with anger. And what did Janus do best? He made mistakes. 

_Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand_

_Put your arm ‘round her shoulder, now I’m getting_

_colder_

Janus had always remembered hating _him_. 

Even before he had lost Virgil, he had always hated _him_ . _He_ was perfect in any way in Thomas’s eyes, and Janus...wasn’t. 

_He_ was Patton. And the fact that Virgil loved _Patton_ over Janus had made his blood boil in a way that he had never felt before. (At least, he pretended he was just angry. It was better than accepting that he had loved, and he had lost. Better than a dull pain in his chest wrapped in a tangle of lies.)

Then it all came crashing down one night.

“How are you and your little buddies going?” He had drawled, watching Virgil stiffen, quickly shutting his phone off. “What, I’m not stupid, I can see the videos.”

Virgil had watched him warily for a second, and Janus had continued before he had a chance to respond. “You can’t actually think they like you? They’re just light sides, they could never look past that.” 

“They don’t have to like me!” Virgil had retorted before Janus even closed his mouth. He had stopped for a second, and said, quieter than he had ever been, “But I think they do. Patton-”

Janus felt his blood rush to his head as everything whitened out as Patton’s name was said. _He_ _was to blame for this,_ an insidious voice whispered in his head. “It’s just Patton _this_ and Patton _that_. Patton doesn’t love you! He doesn’t care! He never did!” 

And in that moment, Janus had known he had crossed a line. Virgil’s face went blank, eerily calm before exploding with rage. 

“He does care! He cares more than you ever did!” Virgil shouted, springing up from the worn sofa. 

“Virgil, wait-“ Janus panicked, but Virgil shot him down.

“No! You’re just a selfish little snake, and all you’ve ever cared about is yourself! Patton _cares_. He tries all the time to make me feel included and heard, which is something you’ve never done. He understands when I make a mistake, and tries to work with me. He-he learned my favorite kind of cookie and baked me dozens after a bad video to make me feel better.” His rant had started loud, fists clenched and shaking with rage, but had ended soft. 

“I’m leaving.” Virgil had said, and had sunk down to the door between the mindscapes, opening it. 

Janus sprinted towards the door. “Virgil, wait! _Do_ go!” He was almost at the door when Virgil had bitterly saluted at him, and closed the door in his face. 

The scent of dried paint lingered in his nose for weeks after. All he could think was that maybe, _maybe_ if he’d been a little faster, apologized sooner, Virgil would still be here.

_But how could I hate her? She’s such an angel_

_But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she_

Janus tried to hate Patton. He tried so hard, hands shaking as he tore up photograph after photograph.

The thing about hate is that it’s so easy to slip into, like a well worn coat, that you can almost ignore the fact that the strings are frayed at the edges. It keeps you warm, just barely, but when the time comes, it falls apart and leaves nothing but sadness and betrayal and _hurt_ behind. 

And Janus couldn’t ignore the fact that Patton was good for Virgil. Patton was soft words and reassurances, cardigans and puppies, nothing that Janus was and everything that Virgil needed. Janus was barbed words and edges that he tried to fit with Virgil’s, but in the end they just were too painful to fit. 

So Janus did what he did best: he pretended. 

He pretended that he hated Patton.

He pretended that he didn’t need Virgil. 

He pretended that the anger that he felt wasn’t swallowing him hole, as he wasn’t angry with himself. That the void inside of him was just the cover of night that he could use to smirk and cackle theatrically. 

And in the dead of night when the quiet envelops you like a cocoon and forces you to listen to your own thoughts, he pretended he was Patton. 

That Virgil still smiled over his shoulder at him, eyes wrinkled with amusement and a fond look on his face. That he still worried over him when he even got the slightest of injuries and would hover anxiously over him for days and deny his overprotective nature to the end of time. That he still squeezed the crook of his elbow in reassurance when Janus won’t speak, grounding him. 

And when it came down to it, it was why he was standing in Patton’s room now. 

He knew that Patton was in the kitchen, baking. 

He knew that Thomas would be starting a video soon. 

With that knowledge in mind, he opened the photograph-plastered closet door, intending to find his cardigan. 

Hanging up on a well-worn rod was a colorful collage of clothes, with one item sticking out. It was grey and black stripes, and when he leaned forward, fingers shaking as he grabbed off the hanger, he could see familiar lint lined pockets. 

The soft fabric almost tore beneath his clenched hands as he stood there, frozen.

It was Virgil’s. In Patton’s closet. 

The monster roared in his chest as he dropped the sweater, swiping through shirts to find the old cardigan lost in a corner. As he wrapped the used sweater around his neck, he could feel himself shifting into  _ him _ .

And with that, he popped out, appearing in the real world, ready to make a big introduction.

——

“Aren’t we friends?”

“...I’m not so sure we are.”

_ You gave her your sweater, it’s just polyester _

_ But you like her better _

_ (I wish I were Heather) _

  
  



End file.
